


A Part Of Me Feels Tainted

by RubiconFiction



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, PTSD (Implied), Post-Prison Spencer Reid, Protective David Rossi, Rape Aftermath, Spencer Reid Gets a Hug, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubiconFiction/pseuds/RubiconFiction
Summary: Reid looks up, readying himself to say something. Because for fuck’s sake, someone has to know. He has to tell someone what happened inside.Someone has to understand because he’s going crazy and his mind is fracturing and he feels like he is dangling off of a cliff and he’s not sure he can hold on, not sure if he even cares about holding on.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & David Rossi
Comments: 45
Kudos: 155





	A Part Of Me Feels Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea for ages and wanted to write it down.  
> TW for referenced assault.

There were many things Spencer had learnt to expect over his years at the BAU. That didn’t mean he was always prepared for them but somewhere at the back of his mind he was aware of their possibility well enough. He could expect to be kidnapped or tortured or even killed. He could expect to see the mutilated crime scenes that would leave most people sick for days. He could expect to meet the sickest people of humanity with minds so wickedly twisted that it left you reeling off of the face of the earth.

But nothing, not his childhood, not the goalpost incident, not Hankel, not Cat, not his job, _nothing_ could have made him expect prison. A federal agent getting arrested in Mexico on the charges of murder and drug smuggling, high as a kite was an idea so outrageous that it would eventually become the type of story that would travel down the family lines for generations.

There were elements of prison Spencer should have known. He should have known that prison was a hierarchy of fear and control and that his entire identity was a death sentence. A death sentence he very nearly did not survive.

When he walked out of the prison grounds into Penelope’s arms followed out by JJ and Luke, he couldn’t bring it in himself to relax. The initial euphoria he felt in JJ’s arms had long since dissipated as memories of what had happened mere days earlier and the foreboding possibility of not seeing his mother weaved into his brain.

They found his mother. Frazzled, but safe. But not before got sucked into yet another mind game with Cat, this time with the taunt of unknowingly fathering a psychopath’s child.

He didn’t have time to unravel then.

* * *

They’re working a fairly standard case in DC itself. Mutilated bodies turning up at public alleyways in the middle of the night. It’s not a particularly unique case, they’ve had ones like this before. Spencer is supposed to narrow the geographical profile but instead he’s pacing around the office, walking in short steps. His chest feels heavy and his legs seem like they can’t move. Tension grows in his face and limbs, mind replaying the assault. An invisible hand is clasping over his mouth and he’s sure his lungs are constricted.

Spencer tries to focus. He feels like throwing up but he presses it down and sits down at his desk. Briefly he thinks if there’s even a sliver of something positive that’s come out of his prison stint, it’s his upgrade to a personal office that offers a modicum of privacy, a bureaucratic apology from the higher ups. It’s barely anything, but for now, it feels like a lifeline.

Spencer is so caught up (in the _flashback?_ _panic_ _attack?),_ that he doesn’t notice the other person standing by the door until they say something.

“Reid?” Rossi calls out finally, voice soft enough to keep the conversation private. But to Spencer, his heart starts hammering, the presence clearly startling him. He wants to say something. A question. An affirmation. _Anything_. But he can’t get anything out. He’s scratching the inside of his palm and biting his cheek. He’s trying not to, but his leg starts rapidly tapping against the floor anyway.

“Reid what’s wrong?” Spencer isn’t sure how long Rossi’s stood there but it’s clear he’s seen atleast some of the distress.

Spencer tries to sit up straighter. He thinks he’s going to reply back with a “nothing, I’m fine” or a more curt “do you need anything?” But he looks at Rossi’s face and it’s familiar, worry etched into every feature, concern rolling off in waves. He looks at that and the instinct to roll the fake assurance dies down in his throat. Rossi takes a step forward but it’s a movement just a little too fast and Spencer flinches harshly, a movement almost certainly noticed by the older agent who reciprocates by restraining himself from going further.

“Spencer”, the usage of the first name rolls out without either of them noticing. “What’s going on?”

Spencer looks up, readying himself to say something. Because for fuck’s sake, _someone has to know._ He has to tell _someone_ what happened inside. Someone _has_ to understand how he can’t _think_ , how he can’t _breathe_ because a part of him is still in that cell, three men pushing him down and straddling his thighs, ripping his jumpsuit apart while he tried to _scream_ into his sock stuffed mouth. _Someone_ has to understand because he’s going crazy and his mind is fracturing and he feels like he is dangling off of a cliff and he’s not sure he can hold on, not sure if he even _cares_ about holding on. 

“C’mon kid, you have to give me something to work with”. Rossi’s voice pulling him out of his pained trance is as jarring as it relieving.

“I-” a part of Spencer’s brain immediately closes up, like a reflex that’s been trained into him. But he pushes on, because if he doesn’t, he will drown and he’s not sure he’ll be able to swim his way out. “Dave”, he whimpers. He looks up straight into Dave’s face. Willing, _begging_ him to understand because he doesn’t know how to get it out.

Dave doesn’t know completely what’s going on but he comprehends enough to decide what he should do. “Should I close the door?”

Spencer nods shortly. Dave follows through.

“I’m going to touch you okay? Just on your shoulder. Focus on the contact, it will be grounding”. Dave tries to keep his voice soothing. Spencer waits long enough that Dave almost thinks he won’t take up on the offer but he nods eventually after several moments. Dave walks forward slowly and extends his right hand out and places it, just firm enough, on Spencer’s right shoulder. His fingers rest gently on Spencer’s collarbone.

“I’ve got you”, Dave says. “I’m right here”. Spencer stares straight down at the floor, gripping the seat of the chair hard with both hands. He focuses on the cologne coming off of Dave, on the feel of Dave’s finger tips brushing against the base of his neck. Shockingly enough, had situations been different, he relishes the contact, leaning closer and angling his body slightly. Dave takes the hint and slides his hand up the side of Spencer’s neck. The sudden physical contact is a dichotomy of the senses. Dave’s hand feels warm, surprisingly warm but perhaps Spencer is just cold. Regardless, the touch is surprisingly comforting and he can finally feel the hammering of his chest starting to thaw.

“Breathe”, is all Dave says, voice low.

Spencer tries to follow, taking in large gulps of air. Eventually, Spencer’s breathing starts to slow. A few minutes later, the thumping in his chest has started to calm too.

“Thank you”, he whispers out, voice rough and croaky. Like he’d screamed his throat raw.

Dave doesn’t reply. He gives Spencer shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand and pulls up a chair, sitting beside him. Spencer’s breathing has slowed but it still hasn’t evened out. They both sit in silence for what seems like a long time, letting it engulf them. In the background the muffled sound of someone dropping something reaches them, followed by an expletive out of a person’s mouth. Neither react; the moment allows them to pretend it is all normal.

It isn’t until more than ten minutes later, when Spencer’s breathing has finally evened out, that Dave speaks up.

“You have to give me something, kid. I can’t walk out of here pretending nothing is wrong”.

The thought of revealing such a tainted piece of him sends a sudden jolt of panic ripping through Spencer again and he clenches his eyes and fists shut.

“Hey, shh. It’s okay”.

Spencer attempts to stop himself spiralling again, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. He’s gone this far. He can’t back out now. He _has_ to say something, has to make someone understand because he’s suffocating.

“When I was in jail, I got ordered to move some drugs”, Spencer starts, voice wobbly. “I refused and then I had to stab myself to get myself in solitary”. Rossi knew that, remembered the fear that had struck him when Emily had told him about what the kid had to do. Remembered the frustration he felt, the anger at not being able to help him. He nods to show he’s listening.

Spencer is staring at a spot on the wall beyond Rossi. He takes a deep breath, reading himself. “A few days before being released, I think… I think they found out I was behind the poisonings, or they found out I was about to be released, I don’t know but when I was walking towards the showers, I think…I think it was Shaw’s men, three of them-“, he stops himself, chest starting to constrict again.

Spencer is shaking, fists clenched so tight before Dave eases out his hand and wraps his own around Spencer’s who reciprocates by gripping back. _Hard_.

“I’m right here”, Dave says when Spencer’s nearly trembling. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe. Just keep breathing. You don’t have to do anything”.

They stay like that for several minutes until Spencer’s body finally stills.

“I’m sorry”, he croaks out.

“You have nothing to apologise for. You’re doing well”.

Dave isn’t going to pressure him to speak again but Spencer has to get it out before he finds a million excuses to back out.

“They dragged me into a cell and held me down and then one of them ripped off my pants and-“ Spencer’s voice cracks and he gives out a broken sound, like a sob. He looks up to Dave’s face, eyes glassy that _plead_ with him to understand because he can’t get it out of his mouth.

Dave does.

Understanding finally slots into place and everything starts making sense. He’s filled with an overwhelming sense of grief and being as tactile as he is, he just about manages to stop himself from reaching out and holding the man.

“Spencer…” Dave whispers out before he can stop himself. A few tears are starting to leak out of Spencer’s eyes. “I’m so sorry that happened to you”. A choked sob rips out of the younger man.

“I tried-“ Spencer manages to get out. “Dave- I couldn’t-“ His voice fractures off and he’s crying for real now, tears steadily streaming down.

Dave has to swallow thrice to stop his own voice was wobbling. “I know. None of this is your fault Spencer. I need you to know that”.

“ _Dave_ -“

A sob breaks out again and Dave can’t _not_ do anything. He isn’t sure how Spencer will respond but he can’t bear to just sit here. He brings around one arm to wrap around the kid loosely, gently hugging him. Reid allows himself to be guided, letting his head rest in the crook of Dave’s shoulders as he cries. His shoulders shake with the intensity of the tears and Dave runs a hand through Spencer’s locks and up and down his spine, desperately hoping he was somehow comforting the trembling frame.

* * *

“I can feel it sometimes”, Spencer mumbles after a while, head still tucked into Dave’s shoulder blades. It’s starting to teeter into the night and the bullpen has started emptying out, the quiet starting to fall into them.

“I can feel their hands, their breath, their _touch_ ”, his breath hitches again and Dave immediately starts carding a hand through his hair. “I just…” he can’t continue.

He doesn’t need to.

“I thought I could forget about it”, Spencer says again after a while, voice less shaky. “ I thought that by helping out I could remove them from my brain”. His voice cracks at the end.

“I think you know it doesn’t work like that”, Dave answers back gently. Spencer lets out a broken sound and Dave finds himself humming softly as he runs his hand through Spencer’s hair.

Eventually, Spencer pulls back. Face blotchy and eyes red, but he pulls back and roughly swipes at his face with the back of his hand. Dave decides to push on.

“I have a close friend who helped me a lot after Vietnam. She’s specialises in trauma counselling. It’s not regular therapy. It’s more informal. I can give you her card”. Dave still wants the choice to be Spencer’s. Healing can only happen if it’s a two way process.

To Dave’s elation and surprise, he nods.

“You shouldn’t stay alone tonight. Come over to my house. I’ll whip up a quick pasta and you can try to sleep”.

Reid nods again. “I- okay- thank you”.

Rossi nods but Spencer repeats again. More forcefully.

“ _Dave_ , thank you”. And Rossi knows he isn’t being thanked for just the pasta and the night stay.

He reaches out and smoothens some hair out of Reid’s forehead and gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be fine, kid. I promise. You’ll get through it and I will _always_ be here."

Spencer looks back up at sincere eyes and a lump forms in his throat again. He takes a deep breath, exhaling out slowly before nodding in affirmation. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> Not too happy with how it ended if I'm being honest. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it. Comments and kudos appreciated.


End file.
